Farradyne left the room quickly. In the corridor he paused long enough to shake the growing vacuum away, and then he went down to the waiting room....
"Howard? She's awake and feeling fine, although she's still weak as a kitten. A bit of the sight and touch of you would work wonders, Howard. She wants you."
Clevis got up and gripped Farradyne's hand hard. "You're quite a guy, Charles," he said.
"I want to be second-best man, Howard."
"Any damned day in the week," replied Clevis. He left and Farradyne was alone.
Farradyne sat down and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke at his toes and wondered at himself. He should have been feeling despondent. Instead, he felt a peculiarly satisfying glow of contentment. He couldn't win everything; somehow this single loss was meant to be and it was right that he should not have Norma.
And then the plume of smoke curled around a pair of slender ankles and Farradyne realized that his loss of Norma was not a loss at all; the slight vacuum filled full as Farradyne knew where his last piece of unfinished business was.
The waiting room resounded with a gentle musical chord. It was operatic in quality; angel, hoyden and devil singing bacchanal. He smiled and looked up at her.
"Any damned day in the week," he promised, getting to his feet.
Against his face, Carolyn laughed softly. "But you can't even pronounce my name."